Whumptober 2019
by WhatHaveWeDone
Summary: So I did Whumptober this year, but knew I couldn't do 31 longer pieces, so did 31 drabbles instead. So here is 3100 of poor John getting whumped to various degrees. Each chapter will be named with the prompt, so you can avoid anything you like.
1. Shaky Hands

John didn't need it, a recurring refrain that haunted mornings until that first soothing dose. His mouth was dry, skin stretched tight, tremors running down his arms. He didn't. Yet hands - usually steady - shook reaching for the dispenser. It was all in his head: proved on rare days awaking on terra firma with a clear head and steady hands. All in his head – the weight of responsibility baring down hard in a way gravity rarely did. He didn't need it, but the only thing that stopped the shaking was dark, bitter, steaming. Tomorrow he would switch to decaff.


	2. Explosion

The shrill screeching of metal under unbearable pressure filled the atmosphere: more grating than nails on a chalkboard and much more deadly. Fire suppression foam burst from the walls at the first wave of heat: emergency bulkheads slamming into place, explosion swiftly contained. Atmospheric scrubbers removed the smoke, cleansing the air in swift exhale, debris now floating both inside and out.

"John? We've had a safety alert, what's the situation?" Scott's voice echoed oddly though the damaged space station.

"John? If you don't answer in the next five seconds I'm coming up there." Sparking electronics was his only answer. "John?"


	3. Delirium

John bucked, trying to shake off the hands holding him back. With vision blurry he stumbled. A head filled with cottonballs knocking his thoughts off course confused him. He wanted to go, take a walk, get some fresh air to relieve the aching burning of his flushed skin, the grinding of his joints, the sheen of sweat that soaked his hair. He struggled again, managing to grumble out "I'm going for a walk."

"Hurry up with the sedative Scott," the hands – the person connected to the hands – Virgil - said. "He's trying to take a walk out the damn airlock."


	4. Human Shield

Moving without a moments hesitation, John turned his back to the oncoming tide of rubble, pulling Gordon in close. Gordon yelled in surprise at the sudden movement but all protests were swiftly drowned out by the roar of collapsing buildings. John's suit wasn't designed for this punishment from debris both sharp and solid – bruises and bleeding already making themselves painfully known. While John was being airlifted home Gordon bore a comical expression: mixing pride, worry and exasperation. But John would gladly take the looks and the wounds to keep a little brother from getting no more than a little dusty.


	5. Gunpoint

Clearly in over his head, the robber's panic swung the gun widely: a dangerous situation and made a precarious one.

"If you put the gun down, things will go a lot better for you." John said boldly, sparing a glance at the bank teller huddled by the desk, the family crouching in a corner, the other customer's lying on the floor.

"Don't talk" The man yelled panicking at his smash and grab gone wrong, gun settling on a target. John raised his hands in the universal gesture of calm, even as his stomach shrank in the universal feeling of 'shit'.


	6. Dragged Away

The ground was unstable, John _knew _that it could give way at any second sending him plummeting into a sinkhole two stories deep. He _knew_ he should step back but it took two brothers, one holding both his arms, one pushing his chest, to make him move to relative safety. Virgil and Gordon could pull him back from that crumbling edge, raising their voices over his own yell, but they couldn't take away the haunting memory of the moments before. The small face that pleaded with him as the ground opened beneath her, where now there was only swirling dust.


	7. Isolation

Silence was golden or so the saying went. Up here silence was chrome and glass and steel: sleek lines and cold surfaces reflected what little sound there was in endless echoes. Silence was drifting effortlessly while far below others ran to keep up in a storm of motion and noise. Silence was stillness and an all encompassing solitude that strangled him with it's expectation that he would be ready and waiting for it to be broken by desperate cries for help. Silence was known by only one: shared with circuits, wiring and endless vacuum the other side of the glass.


	8. Stab Wound

It had been a bad decision: cutting down this ally on the way back to the hotel. A bad decision not immediately running when the hooded man confronted him. A bad decision to talk as he handed over his wallet. Something in those few words had been the wrong thing to say and now John was on his knees in the darkness, pushing tentatively at the knife wound in his side. The cold slipped in as warm blood seeped out. He should stand, find help but the shock drawing his chest tight and breath short froze him to the spot.


	9. Shackled

John's handcuffs clinked against the radiator pipe in this sorry excuse for an apartment. They were much too tight: biting into his wrists every time he shifted – which was often with his hands forced into the small of his back and shoulders pulling so that muscles strained across his chest. He longed to roll his arms to release some of the tension or to stand and stretch the cramp from his legs. The masked kidnappers were arguing in the other room though, in a language he was pretending not to understand and he was forced to wait upon their convenience.


	10. Unconcious

John was long and lanky: all gangly arms and legs which disguised how much he actually weighed. It was times like this Virgil was glad of all that weight training, for judging by John's pupil response and the blood in his hair he wouldn't be waking up any time soon. There weren't any signs of other injuries except the blow to the head and there wasn't time for a more thorough check. Virgil placed one hand around the back of John's legs heaving him to dangle in a classic fireman's lift in one smooth movement for the long hike back.


	11. Stiches

There was a heavy quiet in the room kept sterile and clean for just such an occasion. John had already had to grit his teeth against the harsh sting of antiseptic, splashed liberally on the leg wound by an annoyed yet caring Scott.

"I'm still not convinced you shouldn't be in a hospital for this." Scott muttered, but prepared needle and thread for the deep gash anyway. A poorly timed and hurried jump, an unlucky landing. "Are you ready?" Scott asked, placing a steadying hand on his brother. John gave a quick nod and braced himself for the first piercing.


	12. Don't Move'

_**Continued from Gunpoint**_

John's up close and personal view of the not so clean floor revealed the dust in the corners, a rogue pen that had rolled under a desk and the general detritus that sprung up with the foot traffic of hundreds of people.

"Don't move" a soft voice said, the bank clerk pushing firmly on the gaping bullet wound in his shoulder that was spilling blood onto the floor. The robber paced, scared, angry and now very desperate. John wished he could find the words to calm the situation but he had tried that once already: look where that'd got him.


	13. Adrenaline

"He's not breathing, Virgil."

"Move out the way Gordon." A shuffle. "Gordon, _shift!" _

More shuffling and hands fumbled through the med kit: identifying and discarding bandages, ointment, slings, before finally landing on the syringe and attaching the needle. Gordon had already opened up John's shirt and Virgil easily counted out the skinny ribs to find the perfect place. Virgil steeled himself for the plunge.

This was their last hope – a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. It would hurt and it's not a course without repercussions but he would apologise for it. God give him the chance to apologise.


	14. Tear Stained

_**Continued from Stiches**_

In retrospect maybe he should have gone to hospital. Not that Scott was careless in his work, far from it, but his care prolonged the procedure and the six stitches took an eternity to complete. He would have had stronger meds in hospital as well, and maybe there would be less tears tracking down his cheeks at the effort of not flinching. Scott was silent throughout, concentrating and pausing only to check the tension in his thread was correct. Scott spared a brief glance but turned back to his steady painstaking - pain-giving – work: the sooner he finished the better.


	15. Scars

People lash out when they are scared and hurt, so John was prepared for a violent reaction as he approached the bobcat, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture it didn't understand, to free it from the rusty trap. Torn shirt and bleeding arms didn't deter him from pulling back the vicious teeth until the animal could scamper limpingly away. People sometimes forgot to say thank you too, and the firey claw wounds that he hastily bandaged eventually faded to silver scars served as a reminder that there was often a price to pay for giving help: asked for or not.


	16. Pinned Down

"Help me out Scott?"

"Help with what?"

"Can't you see I'm in trouble."

"I can't see anything."

"Don't be a jackass, get over here and help me, I can't feel my legs."

Scott cracked an eye open where he was lying on one couch, John on the one opposite.

"That's less of a 'me' problem and more of a 'you' problem. You're the one who let them lie there."

John struggled to move, but could barely shift the jumbled pile of Alan, Gordon and Virgil – fast asleep - that covered his lower body.

"I might die here!" he moaned dramatically.


	17. Stay With Me'

"Stay with me?" John whispered to the darkness, holding tightly to the hand that was the only comfort he had. Maybe he should be braver, tell Gordon to go, get to safety, and not risk being trapped under falling debris as he was. Gordon gripped his hand tighter and whispered back "I'm not going anywhere."

John couldn't feel his legs any more, the heavy metal and concrete a barrier to blood and nerves but not to the creeping cold and lethargy.

Soon he would be brave and make his little brother leave, but for now he whispered 'stay with me.'


	18. Muffled Scream

John had felt a lot of pain in his time – electric shocks, soft tissue damage, burns, shrapnel, concussion and the almost routine broken bones. There was no pain quite like this though in it's sharp, stabbing suddenness on bare and unsuspecting feet in the night. John clamped his mouth against the instinct to bellow and was able to stifle it to merely an intense groan, successfully swallowed down before it could wake anyone else. He had to lean against the couch for a moment, foot throbbing. Building lego with his family was great, but stepping on stray bricks bloody _hurt_.


	19. Asphyxiation

This was John's worst nightmare. The number on the oxygen gauge plunging, numbers tumbling down and his anxiety climbing. No matter how much he trained for it just the thought of losing his oxygen supply when EVA sent a shudder down his soul, and here he was clutching desperately at Five's airlock. His vision was already starting to go dark around the edges, his suit too warm, pins and needles in his fingers. John hammered on the door but the other occupant either ignored him or couldn't hear. Air thick as toffee coated his lungs, his worst nightmare made real.


	20. Trembling

With heaters off for five hours now, ice was starting to crawl it's way across the consol. John's whole body was shaking, suit O2 long since exhausted and forcing him to breath the frigid air of the station. The tools of the trade – screwdrivers, transistors , pliers, wiring, floated scattered around. John took a break for a moment, flexing to bring blood back to his fingers. John knew he had maybe two hours before the temperatures dropped enough to be dangerous and too many circuits to be replaced, Suppressing the deep shudders that would ruin his delicate work he struggled on.


	21. Laced Drink

Corporate parties were the worst: all business talk disguised as social niceties, sharks disguising themselves as small fry. The fine scotch John had been nursing was itself a disguise, for it shouldn't have had his head spinning fiercely, vision blurring or legs bending like jelly. He had been drunk before and this was _not _drunk. He staggered to find an empty office without so many hunting eyes, noting a few pairs that broke away from the pack to follow. He fumbled with his secret, silent, hidden personal alarm, hoping the safety net of family would get to him in time.


	22. Hallucination

'Space bonkers' Parker called it. If only he knew. From a purely logical standpoint John knew that his view was an infinitely unchanging blanket of light and darkness. There was definitely no slowly drifting mist, vibrant colours swirling and looping as it circled the station, for there was no wind in space. If he looked closely - and he did spend much time pressed against the glass – he could almost make out strange faces that ebbed and flowed into view. He couldn't report this with the he would be grounded, so he endured the gentle threats of his visions alone.


	23. Bleeding Out

_**Continued from Don't Move**_

John felt a wave of dizziness swirl up, nausea following. The shirt hurriedly pushed against his shoulder to stem the bleeding wasn't helping any more, if it ever had. There was an insidious cold creeping up his limbs, sucking strength from his grip and sense from his mind. He was sweating and cold at the same, a contradiction troubling in that he didn't care. John glanced around for a familiar face but saw only strangers. He was cold. Virgil might bring him a blanket, but no... Virgil wasn't here. He was cold, confused, alone, blood hot and sticky beneath him.


	24. Secret Injury

When the shrapnel sliced into his leg the others had been on their own rescues and John had returned straight to Five. When John carefully stitched the oozing wound the others had been either fast asleep or doing the maintenance that was essential after such a rough set of call-outs. He hadn't exactly hidden it from anybody, but then again the topic had never come up. They all happened to be off island when insidious tendrils of infection first infiltrated his bloodstream and by the time they realised John wasn't answering their calls they were too far away to help.


	25. Humiliation

_**Continued from Shackled**_

John wasn't exactly camera shy but he had never been a performer: preferring to let the others take the limelight while he orchestrated from behind the scenes , directing on the sidelines , just like he did from Five. Now he had no choice: camera pushed into his face, script held so he could read, gun to his head as 'encouragement'. Forced to perform his eyes widened at the embarrassing amount of money they wanted for him, and his eyes rolled at demand for a getaway helicopter. This wasn't an action movie! He appears to have been taken by amateurs. How humiliating


	26. Abandoned

_**Continued from Humiliation**_

Warm daylight woke John from his uncomfortable drowsing. Wrists that hurt before were now burning and definitely bleeding, his joints so stiff he wouldn't be able to move them if he had the chance. He had been alone in this room, – with it's dusty furniture and boxes of junk that spoke of long disuse – and the kidnappers gone for more than twenty-four hours. Much longer without water would bring severe consequences, dehydration setting in. The dirty rag shoved in his mouth prevented him from calling for help, even if there was someone to hear in this deserted area of town.


	27. Ransom

_**Continued from Abandoned**_

"But we paid them!" Scott yelled at the Family Liaison Officer, pacing in the small room. It wasn't his fault. He should apologise. "We paid them." he muttered instead, sinking into the nearest chair. "Why won't they tell us where he is now?"

Scott knew why. Maybe they wanted more time to get a clean getaway. Or maybe it didn't matter. They could have killed him right after recording that video. That could have been the last time Scott ever heard his little brother speak.

"We'll tell you when we have news. Don't lose hope."

Scott just had to wait.


	28. Beaten

The first punch to the face was a surprise – shock hit first and the pain of it was swallowed up in the second punch to the face: splitting his lip with a hot burst of blood against the cool night. The first blow to the stomach forced the air from his lungs with a gasp, which meant there was none left for the second, third and fourth hits. John's legs gave out to put him at prime kicking height - hands clasped around his head in scant protection and leaving the rest of him painfully exposed to their vicious anger.


	29. Numb

Local anesthetic was a wonderful thing when it stole away the harsh spasms of torn flesh and muscle till you could forget that the wound even existed. John stared at the ceiling contemplating his failure whist Virgil bustled around collecting the accoutrements he needed for tending. Now was the time for introspection : to work out what he had done wrong , why he hadn't saved more lives, what he had missed. It might be strange to do data analysis while being stitched up, but right now he could think without distractions : just as numb on the outside as on the inside.


	30. Recovery

_**Continued from Ransom**_

Scott hovered at the fringes while the SWAT team assaulted a dilapidated apartment building, kept back by a young officer as paramedics rushed to follow. Much longer and Scott would storm the place himself, safety and jurisdiction and police procedures be damned. A bustle by the doorway and out came a stretcher and Scott could wait no more. He had never seen John so pale and the wounds on his wrists sent a shiver of anger to Scott's gut, but when John met his gaze – unsteady though it was - over the oxygen mask relief squashed the anger and fear.


	31. Embrace

_**Continued from Bleeding Out**_

The surgery had been successful, or so Scott had been told: bullet removed, wound stitched closed, blood replaced. He didn't really believe it though until he was allowed into John's room where he slept deeply from the anesthetic, shoulder heavily bandaged and heart monitor beeping calmly. Scott couldn't allow himself to believe that John would be ok until many hours later when he woozily woke, smiling in recognition at his brother by his bedside. It wasn't real until Scott gave into the instinct to envelope John a fierce, protective – yet careful - hug, and could feel John weakly return it.


	32. Bonus Drabble

_**Continued from Beaten**_

One verses four was bad odds when the one was surprised and surrounded. One verses four, Virgil could attest, was about equal when the one was fueled by righteous fury and the four were cowards at heart. Unable to dodge storm-force punches or pulled off John by the scruff of the neck they scattered into the night. Virgil knelt to get a good look at already blooming bruises, stomping down his anger until it was a gentle rumble of distant thunder. John flinched away from Virgil's outreached hand before gratefully accepting it's gentle assessment of his ribs and split scalp.


End file.
